The Stowaway
by AllzStar
Summary: Claire Turner is elated to finally be at sea, disguised as a boy and trying to avoid her mother. But when the ship gets caught in a storm and she is tossed overboard, William Turner saves her life. What both of them don't know is that Will is her father.
1. Simon Wellington

**A/N: I am just going to say right now that this is my first Pirates of the Caribbean fic and I don't know how many times this particular kind of story has been done, so please don't leave and review saying "Do you KNOW how many times this has been done?!" Because I DON'T KNOW! I just saw At World's End and got this idea. I have not read any other POTC fan fics and therefore it is impossible for me to copy anything, right? This is my first time in the Archive, and every time I enter a new Archive it's like entering a new family, so it will take me a while to get used to everything here.**

**The Stowaway**

_Chapter One – Simon Wellington_

The dock was a rickety piece of junk. It was carelessly built and dangerous to walk on, but it was the only way onto the boat without being seen. Claire Turner picked her way across the rotten boards, each step taking her closer to the destination of her dreams. The smell of the sea—sea salt, bird droppings and crab guts—was distinct in the air and was carried this way and that by the bitter wind. The seaweed that littered the shore had turned frosty over-night and the sand at the edges of the water was icy. Somewhere further out at sea than the harbor a Bowie bell sounded as the wind knocked it about.

The screech of a seagull somewhere close to Claire's good ear nearly sent her flying off the dock and into the water, but she managed to regain her balance just in time; unfortunately that meant twisting her ankle over to shift her weight back towards the middle of the dock. She bit back a moan as she fell down onto the hard wooden boards. Her ankle throbbed, but she was running out of time. The ship was about to set sail.

She stood up and half limped half hopped the rest of the way, not worrying about the dock anymore. Her shoes made an awful racked as she raced along and she nearly fell again. She had stolen the shoes and her outfit from her best friend Peter so she'd look more like a boy. She doubted she'd be able to fool her mother, but if she got on the ship and laid low for the first few days on board her mother would have no way of sending her daughter back to shore.

Claire finally reached the boat and climbed up the netting on the side. When she got to the top, she peered over the railing to check if the coast was clear. Seeing that it was, she climbed over the railing and onto the deck, and immediately busied herself with "carrying boxes" so she'd look like a regular crew member. She went over everything Peter had told her. "You are a fourteen year old boy," he had instructed, "Your voice hasn't yet dropped—but lower it a bit anyway or it'll be obvious—and your name is Simon Wellington. You have worked on Elizabeth Turner's—your mother's—ship since you were eleven but always in the kitchen, so that's why she never saw you. Got that?" Claire had vigorously nodded and he'd grinned wolfishly, giving her a hard slap on the back. "You'll do good kid. Write to me when you get to the island."

Oh, how she was going to miss Peter. She'd tried to convince him to go with her, but he'd refused, claiming Elizabeth would easily recognize him.

The fact that she was finally on a pirate ship made Claire's stomach flip with excitement. The boat rocked on the gentle waves and the sails flapped aimlessly in the breeze. Gulls screeched and wailed and fish popped out of the water and back so fast they left only a ripple and their stench behind. It was quite peaceful and beautiful there. The only downside was the pungent smell of the sea.

"Oi! You there!" cried a gruff voice from the other end of the deck.

Claire turned to see a rough looking man with an eye-patch and several scars on his face. "Me?"

"Yes you! Aren't you a bit young to be luggin' those crates around? And where to? On whose orders?"

"Um…Claire bit her lip, a story forming instantly in her mind. She stood up straight and lifted her chin up. "I ain't young. I'm fourteen. And I'm moving the crates over a bit to even out the weight. Nobody told me to; I'm just trying to help."

The man looked at her suspiciously. "What's your name, boy?" he demanded, "I don't recall seeing you here before."

"I'm Simon Wellington, sir," she replied proudly, "I used to work in the kitchens, but I've just been promoted to deck hand."

The man grunted and shuffled off to the bow. Claire breathed a sigh of relief. She was glad to have inherited her mother's good lying skills. Claire had a knack for lying, but no one knew it because they didn't know she lied.

Claire brushed a strand of brown hair from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. Peter had wrapped a long piece of cloth around her braided hair from the base of her neck to the bottom of her lock; he'd left two inches showing and the ends frayed out hopelessly. Her bangs and side-bangs stuck out awkwardly from under her hat. She breathed a stream of air up to her frock to clear the hair from her eyes.

Ten minutes later, the ship lurched and began to crawl out of the harbor, slicing through the murky water with grace. Claire gripped the side of the ship with excitement, gazing around the main mast and sails and at the open see before her. Her stomach flipped in elation. She was finally at sea!

**A/N: I know it was a bit short, but this chapter was sort of setting everything up. Just in case you didn't figure it out: Claire is Elizabeth and Will's daughter, but she hasn't met Will yet.**

**Please R&R and tell me what you think!!**


	2. The Permanent Dishwasher

**A/N: I am new to the POTC Archive, so go easy on me…I also don't really know POTC very well, so if I get characters wrong and their positions wrong or something, let me know and I'll switch it.**

**The Stowaway**

_Chapter Two – The Permanent Dishwasher_

"Hey, you!" someone yelled. Claire turned around and saw Gibbs running at her. "Get away from there, boy!"

Claire took a few steps from the railing and looked at the Captain's assistant questioningly. "What's the problem, sir?"

Gibbs glared at her. "The problem _is _that there is a _rule _that clearly says that no one is allowed to go within eight inches of the edge of the ship unless they are in the bow or the stern."

"Oh." _Nice going, Claire. _"Beggin' your pardon sir. I didn't know any better, sir. See, I was just promoted to deck hand. I used to work in them kitchens."

"Hum." Gibbs was staring at her as if trying to place who she was. "You are ye, boy? I don't recognize ye, and I've been in them kitchens before."

"Uh, Simon Wellington, sir. I was usually the dish washer…in the separate…room."

Claire winced inside. She didn't know it there even was a separate room, let alone a dish washer person.

A smile broke out on Gibbs' wrinkled face and Claire sighed in relief. "Oh, so that was ye! Well, then, congratulations, boy! Yer probably the youngest one on deck! How old are ye?"

"Uh, fourteen sir."

"Excellent! We'll have ye on sweeping duty!"

Claire followed the old man as he hobbled across the deck towards the captain's cabin. She began to feel resentful, knowing that her mother could come out of that cabin any second and discover her. She took her mind off it by asking, "Sir? What's sweeping duty exactly?"

Gibbs smiled toothily at her. "I'd say it's the best job on the ship!"

Claire grinned and nodded her head once.

Suddenly Gibbs bent down, picked something up and turned around. In his hands were a mop and bucket. Claire gaped. "What…?"

"Sweepin' duty it is!" Gibbs hollered, laughing as he handed Claire the cleaning tools. He doubled over and started wheezing like the old monkey that he was. Claire scowled at him and then walked away.

She dipped the mop in the water and then sloshed the reeking liquid onto the deck, spreading it around. She worked very hard, hoping if she worked hard enough she'd be promoted to something less embarrassing.

A door behind her banged open. She whirled around, gasped, and then turned back, moping furiously. The tap-tap of lady pirate shoes on the deck told Claire that her mother was heading for her. She hastily moved away with the mop, all the while keeping her back to the Captain. There was no way she was getting caught now. They weren't far enough at sea yet.

"Gibbs!" her mother cried. Gibbs shuffled to his master's side. "Where's this new immigrant you reported?"

Claire froze her eyes wide. What was she going to do?

"He's right here miss." Gibbs grabbed Claire by the scruff of her neck and spun her around so she was facing her mother. She was almost as tall as her, making it even harder to avoid eye contact. "This young lad claimed to be the dishwasher in them kitchens, and he was promoted to deckhand."

Elizabeth glared at the 'boy' disdainfully. "The only one who does the promoting here is me, and I have never seen this boy in my life. I don't even think we had a dishwasher; the kitchen crew took turns washing them every night."

Claire felt as if she might cry. She really had made a huge mess of things now. Why hadn't she done more research on her mother's ship? The _Silverwing _was big and had many secrets to it, but surely she could have prodded information on the kitchen from her mother back at home, before they'd set sail? Now what? She was either going to be tossed overboard or discovered as the unruly and even more unladylike Claire Turner, who happened to be the Captain's disobeying daughter. She didn't know what was worse.

Instead of ruin anything further, she remained silent.

"What do you have to say to that, boy?" Gibbs barked, making Claire jump.

She shrugged, always keeping her eyes on the floor. "I…"

"Thought so," Gibbs hissed, "We've got ourselves a stowaway!"

"Please ma'am!" Claire cried, coming up with a good story quick, "Oi is from the island, and moi pop is really sick, sir. Oi was sent to go get him some 'erb to heal 'im, but the 'erb only grows on the island that yer goin' te. Thousand apologies, miss. Oi was just troiin' te help me pop." When she was finished she bowed her head and tried to work up tears.

Elizabeth was silent for a moment. "Very well. But since you're so keen on cleaning dishes, that's what you'll be going till we get to our destination. ALL KITCHENAIRS ON MAIN DECK!" she screamed in addition. Claire jumped at the sudden noise.

A door opened and several men scurried out, tripping and stumbling, covering their eyes from the sudden light. The Captain smiled slyly. "Lookie here, boys," she said, putting an arm around Claire's shoulders and shaking her quite roughly. "You've got yourselves a permanent dishwasher."

The kitchenairs looked at each-other, grinning from ear-to-ear. Some of them even let out a whoop.

Elizabeth smiled. "Now, please show young master, uh—"

"Er, Simon Wellington, ma'am."

"—Simon Wellington where the galley is and put him straight to work with this morning's dishes."

One of the kitchen workers nodded gleefully and stepped up. He grabbed Claire by the ear and began to drag her back through the door. They were followed by a crowd of happy kitchen aids. Claire groaned, half from pain in her ear and half in the labor she'd gotten herself into. She heard her mother laughing loudly as the door to her new prison swung shut.

* * *

**A/N: Tell me what you think! R&R plz!**


	3. The Storm

**A/N: I am new to the POTC Archive, so go easy on me…I also don't really know POTC very well, so if I get characters wrong and their positions wrong or something let me know and I'll switch it.**

**The Stowaway**

_Chapter Three – The Storm_

Claire spent the next two weeks washing dishes, sweating and cursing Gibbs for running to her mother with a complaint about some mysterious boy. She was filthy: her face was streaked with soot and ash from the ovens of the kitchens and sweat had made her hair stick together in clumps. It was at least thirty-five degrees in that kitchen day and night, and when she wasn't washing dishes Claire sat by the door so that she'd get a blast of cold air every time someone came in. She was finally at sea, but she sure wasn't enjoying it very much.

On the sixteenth day at sea, Elizabeth came in to observe the goings-on in the kitchens. She announced to the workers that a storm was coming and all the food was to be locked up somewhere where it wouldn't get wet. They immediately scrambled around, tying food in bags, crates and safes. It took quite awhile, but Elizabeth stayed there, watching. Claire kept her head bent—though the room was full of smoke and the only light came from the burning oven and single dim light bulb—and tried to stay on the opposite side of the room from her mother.

"Oh, and one more thing," the Captain added when the food was put away, "Kill the stove and protect the coal. If water hits it we'll have a fire and/or the coal will be ruined."

They obeyed quickly and put out the stove. The room was plunged into darkness except for a circle of light where the light bulb was. "Now," began Elizabeth, "Since we won't be eating awhile and there's not light down here and we'll need all hands on deck for the storm, you may abandon your posts in the kitchens and be deck hands until the storm passes."

Claire bit back a squeal of delight and started to follow the sweaty man out the door, but Elizabeth caught her by the neck and steered her out. She didn't let go, and Claire's hopes dropped. What if she'd figured it out?

"You've been doing a good job, boy," said the Captain, letting Claire go and patting her on the back. "So tell you what. If you can prove yourself on deck and that you can handle a storm, I'll promote you to deck hand. Alright?"

"Right." Claire smiled widely and bowed before starting off.

A firm hand came down on her shoulder and spun her around. Elizabeth's face was sincere and her eyes were softer than usual. "I'm sorry I was so hard on you earlier, Simon. You're a good lad. Do well out here, this evening, alright? Impress me."

Claire nodded and her mother strode across the deck and into the cabin so fast Claire barely had time to turn and watch her go. She breathed a sigh of relief. She was still Simon Wellington. Her mother hadn't seen her Claire. Yet. There was still plenty of time until they reached their destination. She simply needed to keep her distance from the Captain as much as possible and make her features even more distinguishable. A idea popped into her head and she smiled at her cleverness.

She turned on her heel and went back into the pitch black kitchen. She flicked on the light and felt her way to the stove. She rummaged through the crate she knew the kitchenairs had put the coal and got some on her fingers. Then she rubbed some soot onto her face: over her eyebrows to make them darker and more masculine, her upper lip and her jaw line (she smudged it more in these areas so it wouldn't be so obvious) and put the faintest bits under her eyes to disguise them more. Then she replaced the crate and left the kitchen, switching off the light and closing the door behind her.

---

"ALL HANDS ON DECK!" Elizabeth screamed, her voice barely audible over the screaming winds.

Claire stumbled her way towards her mother, the wind lashing at her braided hair and rain and sleet whipping her in the face. She held onto her hat with one hand and kept her balance with the other. The boat rocked violently over the wild waves, sea water slapping the side of the ship and rising so that it pelted down onto the deck. The storm was in full swing, and she ship was slowly and roughly making its way to the eye of it, where it was calm and collected.

Men rushed by her, causing her journey across the deck that seemed much bigger now to become even harder. Silly big men and their expertise and good balance. She cursed them all for not showing her what to do with herself during a storm instead of leaving her to figure it out for herself. Could none of them see that she was struggling and threatened to fall any minute? Did any of them care that she could easily just slip into one of the waves crashing over the railing and be lost forever at sea? What about her mother? She liked Simon, didn't she?

Claire began to panic when her feet gave way on the slippery boards and she fell hard on her stomach, a grunt of surprise and pain escaping from her mouth; though not even she could hear it thanks to the howling wind. She scrambled to her feet and made her way to the circle of men in a few awkward, shaky strides. Gibbs finally caught sight of the struggling 'boy' and grabbed Claire by the scruff of her neck, dragging her towards him and pushing her into the middle of the row of men, where she was protected from the sleet and wind and could fall no more. She thanked Gibbs and made a mental note to leave him out of her later cursings.

"Now!" Elizabeth yelled, straining to be heard. Claire felt sorry for her mother, pitying her for all the yelling she had to do. It was a wonder she didn't go hoarse and lose her voice forever. "I want you lot to take care of the sails, and you lot to stand half and half on the other side of the ship! Don't forget to tie yourselves to the main mast! _All_ of you! And if anything starts to go wrong, call be or Mr. Gibbs immediately! NOW GO TO YOUR POSTS!"

The men scattered, leaving Claire without protection. As soon as they moved away the wind stole her hat and shoved her to the floor. She cried out as her elbow collided with the wood and a crack sounded that she could hear loud and clear over the wind. She screamed in agony as pain shot through her entire arm, blinding her. She opened her eyes and saw white. She gasped and tried to move, but her arm protested and she collapsed, groaning in pain.

Suddenly someone was beside her, shaking her shoulder gently. "ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" someone yelled.

"NO!" she screamed back, trying to see who it was.

"I WANT YOU TO COME WITH ME!" they called back.

Claire was lifted to her feet. The instant her arm was without pressure a hot, prickly sensation ran the length of it, and Claire gasped again, wincing and suffering with pain. She'd never felt anything like it.

Someone was pulling her by the uninjured arm towards the captain's cabin, but she did not enter. Instead she was pushing down into sitting position against the wall, under the over-hang of the poop deck, a sort of shelter from the wild environment. Claire opened her eyes and saw her mother kneeling in front of her, her eyebrows creased in concern. "Are you alright, lad? What happened?"

"My arm—"

"Oh, your arm." Elizabeth threw her arms in the air. "Please. You hit your arm on the floor. That's nothing. Everyone else on this ship has endured a lot worse. Put it in a sling and get to your post!"

"Yes ma'am," Claire cried, "But ma'am, I don't know where my post is!"

"You can help with the sails!" Elizabeth answered, struggling to be heard over the noise of the storm. "Go and find Gibbs; he'll tell you what to do!"

"Yes m'!"

Elizabeth took a hanky out of her pocket and wrapped it around Claire's arm tightly. Then she brushed the 'boy's' cheek with her finger gently before getting to her feet and walking back out into the storm.

Claire stood up on shaky legs, ignoring the pain that immediately shot through her arm, and made her way through the pouring rain to the figure she took for Gibbs. She told him what the Captain had told her and he showed her to where a dozen men were pulling on ropes hanging from the boom. "GRAB A LOOSE ROPE AND HOLD IT STEADY. WE NEED TO SECURE THE RIGGING!"

"YES SIR!" Claire yelled. Gibbs left her and she reached for the nearest rope. She backed up to remove the slack on it and pulled slightly, looking left and right to make sure she was doing the right thing.

The wind tore at her clothes, her hair, and her face. Her eyes watered and she had to squint against the sleet. She realized that her hair had begun to come out of the wrap. Bits of it had sprang from the braid and were sticking to the side of her face. Other bits were free and whipped her neck and face every time the wind blew it that way. She was constantly spitting it out of her mouth.

Thunder clapped overhead and lightning struck somewhere too close for comfort. Claire screamed, forgetting that she was supposed to be a boy, and yanked hard on the rope without thinking. She felt it snap, then go slack. The remaining rope fell from the boom and settled in a pile at the base of the main mast. Nobody else seemed to notice, but Claire was beside herself. _You've really messed things up this time, haven't you?_

She didn't know what to do. The storm was intensifying and her arm ached and she couldn't see her mother or Gibbs anywhere. They were the only ones she knew! And no one was paying her any mind anyway.

Suddenly there were several shouts from the bow, and Claire turned to see what was the matter. She was met by the smaller boom. She gasped and vomited a little bit when it collided with her stomach and carried her along, around, around, around. The boom was swinging around the mast, carrying her with it. The rope that was still clutched in her hand came with her, wrapping itself around her squirming body. Suddenly it hit the stopped and she was thrown off guard. Her hands slipped off the wet metal and she had no choice but to let go. She was falling down, down, down. Then she landed on something hard and wet. Then everything went slower. She was falling, but peacefully. Everything sounded far away and distorted. She opened her eyes and received a stinging sensation that burned her retinas. She knew that she was definitely not on the boat anymore.

Panicking, she kicked herself upwards and broke the surface, gasping. She screamed, unable to control herself. A large wave pushed her back down, and sea water flooded her lungs. She gasped, coughed, wheezed, struggling for breath. She battled her way back up to where the air was, but something had fallen into the water above her and caused such impact that she found herself spinning, tumbling, somersaulting through the water as if she was being sucked into an imaginary vortex. She was catapulted downwards. She couldn't breathe. Needed air. But she no longer knew which way was up. She swam, thrashing out wildly. Water was all around her, leaving her with no way to go. Peter's clothes weighed her down, down, down. Down! That was it! She would have to go opposite the way she was going! She kicked in that direction. But her breath was already next to out and she began to suck in water. She couldn't breathe, and she was so tired…

She stopped fighting, knowing it was hopeless, that the ocean had won, and just held still, floating, breathing in the water. She was going to die very, very soon. She could see it. She reached for it. It was a dark figure, approaching her like a fish, only it had the body of a human. Something smooth touched either side of her face, and then her wrists. She was being pulled, tugged towards death.

And then the blackness overtook her completely, and she sank willingly into the watery sand.

**A/N: Oh, God! How intense! Please R&R!**


	4. William

A/N: I am just going to say right now that this is my first Pirates of the Caribbean fic and I don't know how many times this particular kind of story has been done, so please don't leave and review saying "Do you KNOW how many times this has been done

**A/N: I am new to the POTC Archive, so go easy on me…I also don't really know POTC very well, so if I get characters wrong and their positions wrong or something let me know and I'll switch it.**

**The Stowaway**

_Chapter Four – William_

When Claire woke up, she realized that she was lying on wood. Moist planks of wood. She was looking up at a perfectly blue, cloudless sky. Was she in heaven? Yes, she had drowned and gone to heaven.

Suddenly something salty and wet filled her throat and rose up into her mouth. She gasped and water spilled over her lips and down her neck. When more came she turned over onto her side and coughed up more sea water, retching and spluttering, trying to get the horrible taste out of her mouth. She groaned.

There was someone there, near her. They were talking, but she couldn't hear them very well. She tilted her head slightly and water ran out of her ears and rolled down the side of her face onto the wooden floor. She tilted her head to the other side and the same thing happened. Then someone pushed her gently down onto her back, and suddenly she was looking up into someone's face; someone she didn't recognize. "She's come around," said a clear, male voice.

There was some shuffling and then more people were around her, and she was looking up into several more faces, none of them familiar. "Where I am? What happened?"

"You," said the first man, "are here with me and my crew, aboard the legendary _Flying Dutchman_. You nearly drowned during that blasted storm; I saved you."

"You mean…I'm alive?"

The man laughed. "Yes, you are still alive."

"And you…saved me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Claire blinked. "Thank you."

"Of course."

No one said anything for a moment. "_The Flying Dutchmen_?" Claire asked quietly. "You said it is legendary. How so?"

"Ah," said the man, "Have you ever heard the tale of Davy Jones?"

"No," she replied, "My mother never told me anything about the sea, even though she is a captain of a ship herself. I stowed away because it was the only way I'd get on board. I pretended to be a boy, you see. And she didn't realize it, either."

"Oh. Well, it's far too complicated to go into it now. What's your name, child?"

Claire didn't know if she should tell this man her whole real name or not. "Claire." She saw his stricken expression and quickly added, "Claire Wellington."

"Lovely name," he said, the friendly expression back, "I am Captain William."

"Just William?"

"That is all you'll be addressing me by, isn't it?"

"I suppose so."

He helped her to her feet and then began pacing in front of her. "Would it interest you to be part of my crew for a while, or would you rather we try and find the ship you came from? What was it called?"

"Uh." Claire contemplated these choices. "I could help out on board—you did save my life after all—until we find my mother's ship. It's called the _Silverwing._"

William frowned and looked straight at her. "The _Silverwing_?"

"Yessir."

"That name rings a bell."

Claire's eyes widened, hoping she hadn't just betrayed her mother by telling him that. She still didn't know if she could trust William, but she owed him her life now. She was going to have to repay him somehow, whether he was trustworthy or not. "Well, I wouldn't know why…it's a fairly new ship."

"Do you mean the _Starling_?"

"No, sir. It's the _Silverwing _for sure, sir."

"Hm." William began pacing again. "Well, Miss Wellington, it would be a pleasure to have you aboard. What was your position when you were aboard the _Silverwing_?"

Claire's heart sank and she looked at her boots. "Dishwasher."

"Sorry?" Will asked, cupping a hand to his ear. "Didn't catch that."

"I was the…dishwasher."

The entire crew—including Will—burst out laughing. Claire felt heat crawl up her neck and spread across her cheeks and ears. "It isn't that funny. I was in that position because I was good at it," she lied.

Will stopped laughing but there was still a smile on his face. "Sorry, dear. Well, you won't have to be burdened with that awful job here."

"Why not? I haven't any experience with anything else."

Will chuckled. "We haven't any dishes that need cleaning."

Claire raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

"No. Aboard the _Dutchmen, _we use the greatest utensils ever made: our fingers!" Will and his crew cheered and lifted their hands into the air. Claire made a face. How disgusting. Her mother was a pirate, but she still managed to keep her good, ladylike table manners. Claire tried, but she wasn't good at being a lady. She just wasn't proper, and she never would be. Her mother often looked down on her because she was rude or over the top.

Will's crew scattered and went back to their posts and Will began talking with his assistant. Claire stood there, unsure of what to do. Will looked up at her and did a double take, as if he'd forgotten she was there.

"Talk to Garby. He'll give you a job." He gestured to a brawny-looking an with one, thick eyebrow.

Claire nodded and went over to the man. "Excuse me, sir. The Captain told me to come to you for a job?"

Garby nodded and pointed to some crates. "Stick those in the captain's cabin. When yer done, come back and I'll tell ya what else ter do."

"Thank you." Claire smiled charmingly and bent to pick up a crate. There mustn't have been anything in it; it was rather light. "May I ask what's in here?"

"No," responded Garby gruffly.

Claire shrugged and carried the crate through the door that the big man had pointed to.

Will's cabin was warm and tidy with some chairs and a desk. A gas lamp was lit and illuminated several maps and charts that were stacked on the surface of the desk.

Claire set down the crate and let curiosity get the best of her. She crept over to the desk and peered down at the maps. There were several notes scrawled in the margins in loopy handwriting and a few letters that hadn't been opened yet. One of them caught her eye; it was in her mother's handwriting.

Claire didn't know what to do. How could her mother know Will? How could Will know her mother? She gingerly picked up the letter and turned it over to see that it indeed had been opened; she just couldn't see it from the front side.

Carefully, she fished the parchment out of the envelope and read the first few lines:

_Dearest Will,_

_You can't keep doing this to me. It's been nearly twenty years since I saw you last. Why didn't you come? Why didn't you visit me and finally meet your daughter? She's beautiful, Will—she looks just like you. She so wants to meet you. I haven't had the strength to tell her anything because it hurts too much…_

Claire dropped the parchment on to the table. It was not her mother's handwriting. It couldn't be. That would mean…

She looked at the bottom of the letter and saw, to her relief, that there was no signature. It was probably just his ladylove that just happened to have handwriting similar to her mother's. That was all.

Carefully, Claire set the note down exactly where she'd found it and left the cabin.

She found Garby standing at the base of the main mast looking up. She walked over to him and tapped him on his bulky shoulder. "Excuse me."

Garby didn't even look at her when he said, "Move the rest of the crates inter the cabins, girl."

"Okay." Claire turned, wide-eyed, and approached the crates. Something inside of her squirmed. She really did not want to go back into that cabin.


	5. The Canon Ball

A/N: I am just going to say right now that this is my first Pirates of the Caribbean fic and I don't know how many times this particular kind of story has been done, so please don't leave and review saying "Do you KNOW how many times this has been done

**A/N: I am new to the POTC Archive, so go easy on me…I also don't really know POTC very well, so if I get characters wrong and their positions wrong or something let me know and I'll switch it.**

**The Stowaway**

_Chapter Five – The Canon Ball_

Claire learned more on board Will's ship in a few days than she'd learned throughout her entire life. She learned all about the sea—the creatures that lived in it, the ships that had sailed it, the battles that had been fought on it: everything. She also knew all about how to work on board a ship, which would be helpful once she got back to her mother's ship.

If she ever did.

Claire sat on the very tip of the bow of the ship, letting her legs dangle dangerously over the water that the ship was slicing through. She thought about her mother, for the first time in days. Had she realized that little Simon Wellington was missing? If so, did she care? Were they looking for him? Did they miss him in the kitchens? She wanted to tell herself that they did, but something else told her no one really cared about the probably dead Simon Wellington for more than a few minutes after they'd realized he was gone. It made her a little sad, and she didn't know why.

She heard Will coming up behind her but she didn't turn around. The gentle breeze played at her loose wavy hair as Will sat beside her and put an elbow up on his knee.

"Tell me what you're thinking about, then," he said blandly, looking sideways at her.

He was only met by her profile. "I'm thinking about my mother. Wondering what she's doing right now."

"Looking for you, I'd expect."

"I hope so."

Will frowned. "You hope so? If she's a good mother she would be looking for her kid."

"She doesn't know it was her kid that was lost at sea. I was a random little boy, remember? Simon, not Claire. I'm trying to figure out whether or not she'd care about losing Simon." Claire turned her head to look at Will, only to look him straight in the eye.

Will sighed. "Well, there's no telling that, unless you really know your mother. But something tells me you don't," he added after a pause.

Claire shrugged. "It's hard to know my mum. She doesn't tell me anything, not even about my pop. I've never met him, but she's never mentioned him leaving or anything. In fact, she doesn't talk about him at all. I overheard her talking to one of her friends, though—she said 'He hasn't come back yet, and it's been well over ten years'. It's strange, isn't it?"

Claire hoped her plan would work. She wanted to find out if her theories about the letter in Will's office were true. Part of her wanted them to be—she really liked Will and he'd taught her a lot—but some of her didn't want them to be. She feared that if they found out Will was her father, it would change the way they felt about each-other. It would be too awkward. He didn't know how to be a father, and she didn't know how to be a father's daughter.

Will's jaw tightened and he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them they had lost their warmth. "Can you tell me something about your mother?"

"Depends what it is."

"I just want to know…about her. Is she kind of…headstrong and independent? A little too much so?"

"That's her in a nutshell," Claire replied, chuckling softly. "Why, does she remind you of someone?"

"I think she is the someone I'm thinking of, to be honest."

"Oh." Claire's heart raced. Maybe she was right…?

"Could you tell me her name, child?"

Claire hesitated. Now she wasn't so sure if she wanted to find out about her theory. "Her name is—"

There was a loud crash on the main deck. Will and Claire turned around to see a large hole in the floor, steam rising from it like smoke. They exchanged bewildered glances before scrambling to their feet and running back towards it, Will leading the way.

Already Will's men were clustering around the hole, peering down into it, scratching their heads, frowning. Claire shot Will a glance but he didn't return it. He crouched down and jumped through the hole into the galley below. Claire lowered herself over the hole and dropped down after him, landing hard. It had been a longer drop than she'd expected.

She winced as her palms smarted from their rough contact with the floor, but she went over to Will quietly. He was examining a large, round, black object that had embedded itself into the floor.

"A canon ball?" Claire gasped, her eyebrows shooting up into arches.

Will nodded. "We were lucky it didn't go right the way through to sink us." He carefully lifted it from it's own little dent in the floor and set it gingerly on a mat. He took a candle from one of the counters and held it close to the canon ball, examining it.

Claire crouched down beside him. Will poked and prodded the thing for about five minutes. Suddenly he stopped dead, his fingers brushing the surface lightly.

"Claire," he said forcedly, as if trying to keep his temper under control, "can you tell me why this canon ball has this embellishment?"

Claire's blood froze as she leaned over to look. There, embellished into the hardened mercury of the canon ball and painted over in black ink, was the symbol for her mother's ship, and the word _Silverwing _printed clearly beneath it.


End file.
